I’m a misfit,
I’m socially awkward,
Do you know how I can tell?
It’s not the facepaint,
Nor the inability to smile normally,
It’s a certain intangible strain,

A subtle yet leaden weight,
Upon my soul,
A sense of monachopsis,
The burden of not belonging,
I’m in a person suit,
The public are not my tribe,

I lumber through hostile streets,
As if waistdeep through syrup,
Incomparably out of place,
A slovenly ghoul,
A shade of grey,
Passing through hued crowds,

I long to return home,
Domestic safety,
A raft away from the societal sharks,
I can be fluidly myself,
A rainbow within,
Dancing with my thoughts,

Please don’t make me go outside,
I don’t belong there.

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Comments
  1. Navin says:

    Beautiful piece of writing

  2. johnlmalone says:

    Wow! I’m not sure what the word means but I love the poem; I tend towards texts that deal with dissociation: the weirdness takes us to wild places

    • Osharlequin says:

      Thank you kindly! Weirdness is a way of life my friend. Monachopsis is a word for the “subtle yet persistent feeling of being out of place”.

      The Oldschool Harlequin

      • johnlmalone says:

        in a review of ‘Geek Love’, the reviewer describes it as a celebration of the weird, the misfit, the freak and that the book insists that the best parts of a person are those that distinguish him or her from everyone else

      • Osharlequin says:

        Oh I see. I’d be totally inclined to agree with deduction.

        The Oldschool Harlequin

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